Jupiter's Jungle

PrologueThe forest was foggy and dense, his vision was blurred by the cold wind in his eyes. He stared up into the treetops and felt dizzy. They seemed to be swaying—spinning around—and then he fell. He quickly scrambled up and looked around to make sure he was still on the cats’ trail. Someone told him once if he was ever lost in a jungle to follow the animal tracks. Not only would they lead you to civilization, but their tracks held water. As he continued to run along the trail of the wild cat, he was constantly looking down, which made him lose his footing. Stumbling, he skidded to a halt next to a grime-ridden creek bed, all cracked and dry. His bones were chilled, and his fogged breath escaped from his mouth as he gasped for air. His lungs felt as though they were on fire. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t rest. He could do nothing but run. He searched the forest for the main trail but couldn’t find it. Now he had to keep going along the trail the animals made because his life depended on it. He jerked his head around at the rustling of bushes, but it was only the wind. Fear was his constant companion as he hurriedly climbed up an incline. High above the ground, he looked around hoping to see the main trail from there, but he only saw a maze of trees and dry creek beds. And then like a miracle, he saw what looked like the paw print of a giant cat. The water in it was shimmering from the wind. All the creeks he had seen were dry, and he was very thirsty from running. Without hesitation, he lay down on the ground, put his mouth to the water, and began drinking. The water seemed to be as clear as a spring day and tasted so good he drank until the cat’s track was empty. Feeling refreshed, he continued his mad dash to freedom. He stampeded through branches, mud, tree stumps, and rocks, maintaining his focus on escaping. He looked around, wondering how he could have gotten so lost, and thought back to his car that was stalled at the entrance to these woods. While considering the thicket he was vaguely familiar with, he was reminded of a shortcut he knew and foolishly decided to hike through the woods to the other side where he knew he could get help. Now, as he squinted through the dark night everything looked hazy through the fog, and he couldn’t seem to think. Had his senses been sharp, perhaps it wouldn’t have happened, but he couldn’t dwell on that now. He looked up ahead and saw that the trees were at last beginning to thin out, and he could see the forest’s edge. He felt like he needed a break, but there was no time. His head was pounding, and his ears were ringing with the sound of the blood pumping through his arteries. Even this close to the jungle’s edge, he wasn’t sure he would make it, but he had to try. With only a little breath left in his lungs, he burst through the last of the trees and emerged onto a field of dew-covered grass, stretching far into the starry horizon. There was nothing out there. No rolling highway, no buildings, no farmhouse, nothing. The cold breeze continued to rush by him, its invisible hand slapping against his face, causing his cheeks to flush with color. Only once did he turn his head and looked behind him, but there was nothing. No one was following him. He was all alone with the gloom, the fog, and the cold, oncoming death. He jerked around when he heard the loud crack of a gun. He felt the searing blaze of a bullet whiz close to his head, causing him to lose his footing. The world began spinning as the gunshots continued, just missing him but causing him to fall and land hard on his back. He heard footsteps running up to him, and a whip lunged out at him, wrapping around his neck. Without knowing what was happening, the fury of the whip pulled back with such force that he couldn’t breathe. In the next instant, the whip let up, and he was flipped over onto his stomach. Gasping for air, he lifted his head and saw two dark, angry eyes staring at him. He tried to speak, but nothing seemed to come out of his throat but growls. “Growl at me, will you?” the man said and raised his whip again. He cringed, expecting another stinging bite of the whip when another voice came out of the darkness. “Don’t whip him anymore. We can’t have too many lacerations on his pelt when we go to sell it.” He didn’t understand. Pelt? He looked down at himself and saw golden fur, the color of a lion. He thought back to the cat’s trail he’d been following and knew the only time he had come in contact with a cat was when he drank the water in the cat’s paw. He remembered that it tasted as fresh as spring water. My God, had it somehow passed a curse on to him? Instead of dreading it, all at once, the knowledge that he was a growling, feared king of this jungle strengthened him. Realizing his power, he slowly rose up on his hind legs, turned to the two hunters, and with eyes shooting amber fire, he emitted an angry growl. He could see fear on the hunters’ faces when they saw him, and the whip instantly fell to the ground. One reached over his shoulder to grab his rifle, but before he could get it, the growling cat gave a wide leap, and the creature savagely killed his tormentors. When the next day began to dawn, he woke to find himself lying naked at the edge of the woods with his shredded clothes scattered around him. He looked down at himself and realized he had become human again, and the hunters lay only a few feet away, ravaged and bloody. As his gaze shifted around to the dense, leafy jungle, he knew something mystical had happened, something that only those who believed in fairy tales, fiction, or maybe the paranormal would believe. He believed it—and knew that his life would never be the same.